


A Little Help from a Stranger

by aparvado



Series: Wrong Numbers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, War flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:26:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparvado/pseuds/aparvado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Steve always calls Natasha after his nightmares but this time a stranger named Bucky answers</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Help from a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys this is my first fanfiction so let me know if it's horrible because it's not beta read. Let me know if I should make another chapter or just keep it as a one shot.

“There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water.” Steve yelled over the roar of the jet engines. 

He knew there was no other way this could end, this is the only way he could save them, all of them.

“Please, don't do this,” Peggy begged, “We have time. We can work it out.” 

Steve never thought he would be able to fall in love with anyone so quickly before Peggy came into his life. There was no one he would rather be talking to in this moment, and he was just glad she’s was with him.

“Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice.”

“Peggy?”

“I'm here.”

“I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance.” He half-smiled, hoping she understood.

“Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.” 

She was crying. 'Please don’t cry, please don’t let me be the source of your tears,' he thought. It’s all going to be okay, he promised.

“You got it.” Steve nodded, trying his best to be strong for Peggy. His Peggy.

“Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late!” She let out a forced laugh, “Understood?” 

He sighed reaching for her picture and placing it on the dash, a way of saying his final goodbye. 

“You know, I still don't know how to dance.”

“I'll show you how. Just be there.” She stammered, holding back the tears he knew were falling down her cheeks. 

“You'll have the band play somethin' slow. I'd hate to step on your—”

There was a rush of freezing water that overtook the jet when it finally plummeted into the ocean. It was too much, too fast, and the jet was filing up to the brim with water. Steve was drowning and there was no one there to save him.

His last thoughts were that he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe?

It was too much until he succumbed to the dark that was calling out to him.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Steve shot up out of bed gasping for air, desperately trying to suck in as much air into his lungs as he could. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running to the bathroom, emptying out all the contents of his stomach. His head was pounding, and he was still trying to breathe even, not wanting to pass out and have to relieve that nightmare twice in one night. 

In…Out…In…Out…

“You’re okay,” He whispered, “You’re okay. My name is Steve Rogers, it’s 3:44 am on January 17th, 2016. You’re not there anymore, you’re here in Brooklyn, and you’re okay.”

It was his mantra ever since he woke up after the ice. Steve needed to calm himself down, to breathe, and the only way he knew how to do this way by repeating this phrase over and over again, to make sure he knew he wouldn't slip back into the ice. 

Steve laid down on the cool tiled floor and brought his feet up to his chest, willing himself not to cry. 

Nights like these are the worst. Nights where he can’t get more than an hour sleep without being interrupted by the harsh reality of him having abandoned everyone from his old life. The woman he loved, his friends, his family, his unit. He was the only one left and every now and then, it just hits him. He really is all alone. All of SHIELD and Fury can act like they know what it’s like to lose people, but it’s different to outlive them. It’s different to wake up from nothing more than a night’s sleep and find out that everyone he knew, everything he always worked for was gone, and he didn't have a single say in it; because he wasn't there because he missed it.

Once the first tear rolls down his cheek, the dam broke, and he's overcome with messy, uncontrollable sobs that wrack his entire body. Steve's hands won’t stop shaking and no amount of deep breathes he tries to take can regulate his breathing. This can go on for hours, maybe even until dawn, but lately, he's gotten it down to about two hours. Two hours of violent sobs eventually lead to small hiccups and a sad attempt at trying to take slower breaths. 

He slowly starts to stand up, gripping the sides of the toilet as leverage, forcing him to keep himself balanced on his feet. He slowly makes his way back over to the bed and reached for his phone on the nightstand. He sluggishly starts to dial her number, still shaking, making it more difficult to hit the right buttons on the receiver. He had to retype the number three times before he thinks he got it right. Nat always knows what to say to lull him back into an almost dreamless sleep, and she’s been his rock over these last few years. She knows how to talk to him, how to get him back, and she's the only one who doesn't pretend to understand. 

The phones rings four times, and he loses hope in her answering, pushing the phone down next to him on the mattress and bringing his knees back up to his chest. The tears start to flow again, and he doesn’t know how he's going to make it through the night without Nat. But all the sobs come to an abrupt halt when he hears a low, gruff voice come from the forgotten phone on the side of the bed. 

“Hello?” 

Steve picked up the phone and stared at it.

'4657 not 4656 you idiot.' He thought

“Hello? Is anyone there?” The voice croaked out, raspy from sleep. 

“Uh, I’m-I’m sorry, I have the wrong number,” He stammered, trying to keep his emotions in check. 

Steve went to press the ‘end call’ button when the other voice spoke out, 

“Hey, wait. Are-are you, um, okay? I think I, uh, I heard you crying, and I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Uh, are you?” The man on the other line sounded just as nervous as he felt, and Steve didn’t know if it was the fact that its 4am and he's been crying for most of the night, or because he just needed to feel like he had someone in his corner, but he decided to entertain a conversation with a complete stranger. 

“No, I-I meant to dial my, um, my friend, and I-I guess I just hit the wrong number, I’m sorry,” He laughed dryly.

“That’s okay, I wasn’t really up to anything before this anyway,” he chuckled, “My name’s Bucky by the way. You are…”

“Steve,” He replied after he paused, “Bucky’s a, uh, a different name.” 

'Why did I say that? I don’t even know him, and now he's going to think I'm making fun of his name. Jesus, I'm a mess' he thought. 

Steve was surprised when he heard a laugh at the other end of the phone while he was busy internally kicking himself for his stupid comment. 

“Well, my real name’s James but my friend’s call me Bucky, and it sounds like you probably need a friend right now.” He replied, seemingly sincere. “So, what’s got you waking up random strangers at all hours of the night?”

"It's nothing really, I just get these dumb nightmares sometimes, and I usually call my friend about it. It's-It's not a huge deal, it's dumb really." Steve replied shyly, keeping his voice low.

“It’s probably a big deal if you're waking up your friends at four in the morning,” he responded sarcastically. “How, uh long have you had them for?”

He sighed, god he had no idea why this guy was still entertaining him. “Um, ever since I got back, I don't know, I just can’t shake them. I haven't been able to have a good night sleep in over two years, but I can't really do anything about that. I’ve tried meds but they just make me a ghost during the day, and I don’t want that for me, you know?” 

“Ever since you got back? Like war, in Afghanistan or Iraq?” he questioned.

“Yeah, something like that.” he shook his head, knowing that he was just like the rest of them, and he would never really understand.

“I, um, I actually did two tours in Iraq, and I still get nightmares too,” he paused, sighing, “The only reason I answered your call was because I-I was actually already awake. I’ve been up since two and I can’t go back to sleep because I know I’ll just fall right into another one.”

Steve stared at the wall, processing everything Bucky said, trying to muster up the courage to reassure him in some way. He wanted to tell him that it’ll be okay, and that the dreams will fade, but how can he say that when he can’t even get his own subconscious in check. 

“Are you still there?” Bucky whispered.

“Yeah,” He answered after a few seconds, “Did you lose anyone out there?”

“Yeah,” He took a deep breathe, “My whole unit actually. There was a series of mines that the bomb squad couldn't disarm, and we were just stuck right in the middle of it. Lucky us. I was the only one who made it out, lost an arm though.” 

“Jesus, I’m-I’m sorry man. I don’t know what to say.” He mumbled, clearly underestimating just how similar they both were. They were both alone, and just needed someone who understood what they went through, someone to talk about it with. Maybe not at 4 am, but still.

“It’s alright, I got an honorable discharge because of my arm, so I guess it ended as well as it could of,” he laughed, seemingly unaffected by the morbidity of his previous statement. He cleared his throat and continued quietly, “What about you, Steve. You lose anyone?”

He paused, focusing on his question when he started to chuckle and that chuckle turned into laughter until he was doubled over gasping for air with hysterics. He almost couldn't stop himself. The irony of talking to this strange man on the phone at four in the morning who could be defined as his modern-day counterpart and symbol for everything that he went through in WWI and since he's gotten back is frankly hilarious. Bucky knows what it’s like to be alone, and so does he, and they both lost everyone they knew. Bucky asking Steve if he lost anyone is probably one of the stupidest questions you could ever ask him, because, yes, he did lose someone. He lost himself. Every single person he touched in 1918, he gave a piece of himself to and with every death, with every disappearance of all those people, he lost those pieces. No one in this time can say they remember what he was like before they found him in the jet frozen over like some kind of fossil, and no one will ever know the real Steve Rogers because he doesn't even know if he remembers who that was. He lost everything the day he woke up in SHIELD headquarters, and if it were up to him, he would’ve liked to stay in that jet, preserving those little pieces.

Steve kept laughing until he realized that it wasn't just laughter anymore, and he welcomed the familiar burning sensation of tears that were flowing freely from the corners of his eyes. Bucky kept quiet, allowing him to sob until there was nothing left.

“I miss everything,” He whispered breaking the silence between them, “I miss them all. So much.”

“I know. I don’t know if we’ll get through it, but we have to try, right? It’s not going to be easy, and it won’t be quick but how about we go through it together, yeah?” His voice was calm and confident like he knew that there was a light at the end of this tunnel and that they could walk towards it together.

Steve took an honest to god deep breathe for the first time that night, closing his eyes.

“Thanks Buck,” he smiled, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow. Night, Steve.” 

With that, the line went dead and he clutched the phone to his chest. Maybe he’ll be able to find those missing pieces after all.

“Night Bucky.” he whispered, drifting off into the first dreamless sleep he's had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: aparvado


End file.
